The Garbage Man

Rolling, dried, sun-burnt hills seemed to stretch forever out to a hazy horizon beyond the snaking rutted roadway. Under the high, light grey cloud cover, and except for the road, nothing could be seen indicating the presence of man. Here and there a few tall skeletal trees raised their heads beyond a hill. Gorse and heather provided the only cover for man or beast. You might say it was a bleak landscape.

Thanks Frank. Now it’s up to my short story writing muse… she’s quite unreliable. I’ve got several intriguing stories started up that “she” never finished. Best guess, something else more interesting struck her fancy at the time and off she went. With really short stories I can usually make her finish. Obviously this one is neither “begun” nor finished. I was trying to figure out how a Japanese female slave ended up in Europe, and how her daughter finds herself in what can only be described as northern England or the Scottish moors… but then these appear to be the years of the great pre-Elizabethan overland exploration travels, like those of Marco Polo. People would travel with the great caravans, or as refugees in the wake of some of the greater crusades and various conquering or defeated armies. Speculation is the meat of pseudo-historical fiction writers… I too want to know what happens when Beanna and “Edgar” enter the next town, particularly whether she’s right about the coal smoke coming from an inn, or from a forge, and whether, if he wins the impulsive wager, Edgar would actually claim her sword. Then that bit about his “speed” and his real name, and his age… oh boy! And I especially want to know if these two become “an item” as they say, or whether they part company. There’s adventure beckoning, indeed and you’ve made me greedy also!
(PS: did you notice the little anachronistic “gaffe” when Beanna says, “I’m certifiable!”? Not exactly a 13th C expression, that, ha, ha, ha!!! 🙂